


I'll Put You Back Together

by lafayettelovingwriter



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, I can't do tags, M/M, i'll add more later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-24 15:52:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16643204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafayettelovingwriter/pseuds/lafayettelovingwriter
Summary: Alexander Hamilton has, without a doubt, lived a totally shitty childhood. From his father leaving to the hurricane that destroyed his town, he's had the worst of luck.Now, at age 25, he's barely clinging to his job at a local coffee shop in New York. He doubts he'll be able to get through the rest of his life without ending up on the streets with no job and no home.That is, until he meets the rich and famous Thomas Jefferson.-----Thomas Jefferson lives a perfect life. Although his mother is dead, his father loves him and ended up spoiling him rotten as a child.And now, as a 28-year-old man, he has more money and fame than he can account for. The only thing he worries about is finding love, but it's hardly his priority.Until he comes across Alexander Hamilton, who is the kind of person he never expected himself to fall for.





	1. Worries and Wonders

**Author's Note:**

> i'm freaking DYING
> 
> i wrote a lot of this by hand, ngl
> 
> the whole first chapter plus the summary is eight frickin pages, i'm not even kidding
> 
> also this might be the only thing i write up in a while, i think i might be damaging my left hand?? it hurts like hell when i type

Alexander Hamilton hurried down the street towards his workplace, intent on evading tardiness. The last time he was late, the manager had taken the time to yell at him about all the things he had done wrong that past week. Yeah, not fun, especially on top of the man's threat to fire him.

He pushed past several pedestrians, not even bothering to say "sorry" despite the multiple shouts and glares he received as reactions. However, his journey was temporarily halted when he slammed directly into someone and fell to the ground. And, unfortunately, it was the kind of fall where you land flat on your back and bang your head against the hard concrete. Yowch.

"Hey!" a voice -- presumably belonging to the guy he had crashed into -- barked. "Watch where you're going, idiot!"

Spots danced in Alexander's vision, but they soon vanished as his world came back into focus. Glaring down at him was a dark-skinned man with disastrously curly black hair, who wore what had to be the most blinding magenta jacket Alexander had ever laid eyes on.

"Hellooo?" the man snapped. "Where the hell is your mind? I want a fucking apology!"

Alexander got to his feet with a slight amount of trouble, shaking his head as if attempting to discard the sudden fuzziness edging his thoughts. The action only brought on a splitting headache, causing him to hiss in pain. He managed to mumble, "'M sorry. Gotta go . . ."

He was off like a shot before the man could say another word.

\-----

Thomas watched with raised brows as the young man took off without a word beyond "I'm sorry, gotta go." His anger towards the other had worn off rather quickly, seeing as the latter had been in quite the rush. Thomas concluded that he feared what might happen if he were late to wherever he had to go -- most likely work.

_And he could be hurt,_ some part of him decidedly piped up, though he wasn't sure why he cared.

As he continued towards the coffee shop that he typically went to most mornings, he pondered the appearance of the shorter man.

He looked weak, afraid of the world around him, and for some reason that worried Thomas. He silently wondered how bad this guy had it in life.

Regardless, the man was definitely much shorter than Thomas; his dark brown hair looked like it hadn't been brushed in days, and his eyes were a warm brown -- however, they lacked that hopeful light Thomas had seen in so many different people.

He shook the thought off. _Not everyone is perfectly content with what they have,_ he reminded himself. _It's better not to bother with them._ That was what his father always told him -- it would do him no good to meddle in the lives of those beneath him.

_Whatever._

He kept walking.

\-----

Alexander practically bolted into the shop, dizzy and out of breath. He thanked whatever god was up there that he had managed to get there right on time, but still resented his encounter with that man -- after all, if he hadn't run into him, he wouldn't be suffering a murderously painful headache.

He supposed that was his fault, though, for not watching where he was going.

Once he had flipped the "CLOSED" sign to "OPEN" after making sure everything was all set, he took a deep breath and hurried to stand behind the counter.

Alexander didn't usually take the morning shift; however, after a 3am call from his (currently sick) coworker, Lafayette, he found he had pretty much no choice but to do so. Which was quite unfortunate, because Alexander was _not_ a morning person. He didn't get any more than three or four hours of sleep due to constantly working overtime, and mornings just didn't work with him in general.

He heard the bell ding, and he looked up, gaze now trained on the door.

He froze.

The magenta gave the guy away -- Alexander recognized him as the man he had run into. The man glanced over, and his eyes widened upon seeing the shorter.

However, he quickly masked his surprise with something akin to a smug look and made his way over.

Alexander hated him already.

\-----

Thomas was quite surprised to see the young man from earlier standing behind the counter rather than his cousin.

He hid his surprise with a smirk, despite there being a thousand different expressions he could have used. Maybe he was just going with this to spite the man, though he couldn't be certain of what reason he has been given to do such.

Walking over, he said the first words that came to mind -- "Where's Lafayette?"

"Sick," the brunet muttered. Thomas absentmindedly noted that it looked like he hadn't slept in a week. He was a bit taken aback by the other man's next words. "Why do you care?"

Thomas blinked. ". . . He's my cousin," he said after a moment's hesitation.

"Oh." The smaller male showed very little reaction. "Whatever. What do you want?"

"Just a cappuccino," Thomas responded. It wasn't his usual order, but he didn't want to stress the guy out with its complexity. **(A/N: If you haven't noticed, Thomas isn't one hundred percent an arrogant snob in this story.)**

The brunet hissed something along the lines of "how _specific_ " as Thomas walked off to find a table.

He was called back only a few minutes later to get his order, and the young man pulled out a Sharpie. "Name?" he inquired. His voice was dripping with venom; he clearly didn't like Thomas all that much, which was understandable.

"Thomas. What about you, darlin'?"

\-----

Alexander stiffened. Was he hearing things correctly? The question has struck him like a speeding bullet, and the "darlin'" just added to the impact. He felt heat rise in his cheeks from both anger and embarrassment, but he managed to sputter out "A-Alex" as he furiously scribbled Thomas's name on the cup.

He shoved it into the man's hands, glaring harshly.

Thomas just smirked and left to his table as Alexander stared down at the counter, gaze so intense it could burn holes into the surface.

Then he noticed something.

There was a small slip of paper with a series of numbers written on it.

_Did he seriously --?_

Picking it up, he sighed and, against his better judgement, took out his phone and entered the number in his contacts under the name "ThomASS." He then sent a single word to the magenta-clad man.

**To:** ThomASS  
 **From:** Alex  
 _7:37am_  
bitch

\-----  
Thomas couldn't suppress a snicker. He made a mental note to make it his job to bother this "Alex" as much as possible.

_And maybe help him out a bit,_ some unwanted, hopeful part of him added, but Thomas pushed the thought away.

_Don't meddle._


	2. Midnight Chats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John worries about Alex and Alex texts Thomas in the middle of the night, surprisingly not just to bug him. (Laf can't do summaries feat. someone help me find the tag for James Reynolds)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WROTE THIS ALL BY HAND AGAIN
> 
> and had to upload it from freakin PHONE >:(

The rest of Alexander's day went by pretty fast. Occasionally he would be bothered by a headache or a bout of dizziness, but he was sure he was fine.

Finally, it was time to close up and go home. Alexander locked the shop door once he stepped outside and glanced around, noting that, if not for the flickering streetlights, it would be pitch black ~~like Laf's dying soul~~. He wasn't sure how most coffee shops worked, but he was about ninety percent sure they weren't usually supposed to be open until near midnight. It really just didn't make sense to him, but he hardly questioned it.

He walked down the empty, eerily quiet street, eventually reaching his apartment building. Once safely inside the apartment itself on the second floor (he thought of it as "safely" because the streets of New York weren't the best place to be at night), he crept towards his room as silently as he could manage --

"You're late again," a voice from the couch said flatly.

Alexander jumped and whirled. He could just barely make out John Laurens's silhouette on the sofa; he let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. "Sorry, John, I --"

"Had to work overtime?" The lamp beside the tattered piece of furniture clicked on, lighting up John's freckled face, which expressed a mixture of anger and worry. "Alex, you know you don't _have_ to. You're just too afraid of Reynolds to come home at a reasonable time. It's twelve in the fucking morning, Alexander; people who have jobs at coffee shops aren't supposed to work that late!"

"I'm sorry," was all Alexander could get out before he released a cry of pain as a stabbing sensation jolted through his skull.

All of John's frustration faded as he leaped to his feet and hurried over to his friend. "Are you okay?" he asked, eyes glistening with concern.

"Fine," Alexander told him, but John simply wasn't convinced.

"Don't lie to me," he snapped. "Did you hit your head? Fall and break something?"

"I fell and hit my head on the pavement because I ran into someone," Alexander said. He pulled away from John, who had grasped his wrists in his worried outburst. "That's all."

John gaped. " _That's all_?" he choked out. "Alex, you could have a concussion! For all you know, you cracked your skull! We need to go to a hospit --"

"No!" the shorter man shouted. He shook his head, lowering his voice. "No. No hospitals."

John studied him for a moment, as if trying to find reason for his friend's sudden distress. Then, to Alexander's surprise, he drew him into a hug. "Okay," he said softly. "Okay."

Then he let him go, and Alexander left to his room before John could speak another word.

Alexander cried himself to sleep (and woke up barely ten minutes later).

\-----

Thomas woke to his phone buzzing rapidly on the floor (it had vibrated itself off the nightstand). "What the hell . . ." he groaned, fumbling to pick it up from its place down below.

Unlocking it, he checked his texts.

 **From:** Alex :3  
**To:** Thomas  
_12:51am_  
hey idiot

 **From:** Alex :3  
**To:** Thomas  
_12:53am_  
i hardly know u but can we talk

 **From:** Alex :3  
**To:** Thomas  
_12:59am_  
wake up fucker

A series of texts reading "wake up" followed, and more were still coming in. Thomas groaned loudly, then typed up a response.

 **To:** Alex :3  
**From:** Thomas  
_1:07am_  
do you SLEEP

The response came almost immediately.

 **From:** Alex :3  
**To:** Thomas  
_1:08am_  
i slept about 10 min, woke up from nightmares, r u willing to distract me

Thomas thought about it for a minute -- and he almost couldn't believe his own response.

 **To:** Alex :3  
**From:** Thomas  
_1:10am_  
of course. think you can call me? texting's kinda difficult

 **From:** Alex :3  
**To:** Thomas  
_1:11am_  
ok but u gotta be quiet, i don't wanna wake my friend (we live 2gether)

His phone started to ring so he quickly picked up.

 _"Hey,"_ Alex greeted, sounding exhausted. Thomas wasn't sure why, but he smiled at hearing the brunet's voice. 

"Hey," he responded softly. "Are you okay?"

 _"Hardly,"_ Alex sighed. _"But, putting that aside, neither of us really got the chance to introduce ourselves properly. I'm Alexander Hamilton, at your service, sir."_ He snickered.

"Thomas Jefferson," Thomas told him, and almost immediately regretted it.

The other line was quiet for a long moment.

"Alex? You there?"

 _"You're_ the _Thomas Jefferson?"_ Alex finally said, his voice quiet.

". . . Yes?"

Alexander didn't know whether he should be awestruck or angry with himself. For one thing, he was talking to _Thomas fucking Jefferson_ , and, for another, he had been enough of an idiot not to recognize him.

After another momentary silence, he stated, quite simply, "Your opinions are shit."

 _"I don't know if I should laugh or be offended,"_ Thomas snorted, clearly trying to mask the fact that he was going with the former decision.

Alexander fell back on the bed, the mattress bouncing slightly beneath him. "I'm talking to Thomas Jefferson," he breathed.

_"Yeah. Sorry, I probably should've told you --"_

"Yeah, you should've told me!" Alexander cried, no longer caring if he woke John. "I shouldn't be talking to you. I _can't_ be talking to you. What if my boss finds out? I could get fired. I _will_ get fired, I'm sure!"

 _"Wait, why would you get fired?"_ Thomas inquired, sounding confused.

"Reynolds -- my manager -- is always looking for reasons to get rid of me," Alexander sighed, "no matter how dumb."

_"He sounds like a jerk."_

"He is." The brunet paused. "Why are you still talking to me?"

_"You're a good conversational partner. And you asked me to distract you."_

"Oh." Alexander blinked. "You're a lot nicer than I thought you would be."

Thomas laughed. _"I get that a lot more than you may think."_

"I think you get that from everyone who isn't afraid to express their opinions about you."

Another laugh; Alexander couldn't help but notice how sweet and melodious it sounded --

_No. Stop it. What are you doing?_

_"Alex, are you okay?"_

"I . . ." Alexander hesitated. "I should go."

_"Wh --"_

He hung up.

\-----

Thomas stared at his phone.

_What the hell was that?_

He shook his head, setting the device back on the bedside table. He rolled onto his side, staring at the wall of his room. In the dark, the magenta paint appeared shadowy gray-red, like smoking-hot coal; however, his thoughts were elsewhere.

He was thinking about Alex.

Alex, Alex, Alex -- who _was_ Alexander Hamilton? He really hadn't the slightest clue.

_I wonder . . ._

He sat up, picking up his phone once again and turning it on. He opened Google and entered the search term "Alexander Hamilton."

He was shocked by the sheer number of articles that popped up as results.

_A bastard, orphan, son of a whore -- and the sole survivor of the hurricane that destroyed Nevis._

_He wrote his way out: Alexander Hamilton_

_How the bastard immigrant came to America!_

Thomas stopped scrolling. He shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be getting into Alex's business; that just wasn't fair to him.

He closed the app and powered off his phone so he wouldn't be woken by texts like he had before.

Laying back down, his gaze returned to the wall. This time, he took note of the color as he cleared his mind of any thoughts regarding Alex.

But still, one fact stayed with him.

_You meddled. No turning back now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tell me what you think!!
> 
> also, mild preview for next chapter since I CAN:
> 
> Alexander groaned, eyes blinking open at the loud chiming of his phone. He reached for it as he sat up, grabbing it from its place on the nightstand and unlocking it. He stared at the message he had received for what felt like hours, then did two things.
> 
> A: Change Thomas's contact name to "Jeffershit."
> 
> B: Send a particularly salty response.


End file.
